There is something about the dismal weather that relaxes me.

Vintage cars steer across gray cement, warm puddles on wet sidewalks, and the unusual fragrance of cinnamon and pumpkin lurking in the atmosphere.

It tickled Nessa's nose as she roamed across the beach, holding a postcard to an old friend Apollo.

They first met in a laboratory last December when Apollo was locked in a white panic room—tortured and experimented on by a strange entrepreneur named Jason Young.

The children had first encountered the billionaire at Lovecraft Creek, a community where sea anomalies ran rampant. Jason was impressed with their detective skills and takes the children to his facility.

His mission was to capture sea monsters and study them for research. That way, he could use their anatomy to provide medicine for his community.

But when the children discover that Jason's experiments were illegal, they band together to stop him—once and for all.

Using a memory card they had found in an old locket, the children informed the officers of Jason's crimes and had his facility shut down.

The children celebrated their victory by drinking hot chocolate and listening to old Christmas carols.

Soon, Nessa, Caleb, Johnny, and Brooke's investigation fell short when they heard the fate of Apollo on television.

The teenage boy, along with his father figure Martin, attempts to escape the country. But sadly, Apollo and Martin were both arrested for not bringing his mutant passport.

Right now, he is spending two maximum sentences in juvenile detention, whereas Martin is resting uncomfortably in a prison hospital.

Feeling sorry for Apollo, Nessa would send him endless postcards and mixtapes. Often, Apollo would respond by giving her Toad the Wet Sprocket singles.

They continued sharing letters and music until one afternoon, Apollo didn't write back. 

At first, the confused Nessa tried phoning the police station, but the officers refused to answer any of her questions.

Let alone treat Apollo's name with respect.

Nessa hoped that he could find a way to talk to her again, but by the time October came around, Nessa had already given up.

Apollo probably had his privileges revoked or something, Nessa was thinking as she placed a postcard and a Screaming Pumpkins mixtape inside the desolate mailbox.

It was the first day of November. The vibrant leaves matched the color of pumpkins; news and movies came and went.

Since Apollo and Nessa became friends for a year, I believe that this story takes place in the mid or late 90s.

But when you are a sixty-year-old man, you have trouble remembering what happened in those periods.

As weeks went by, Apollo refuses to talk to her, Nessa couldn't help but send him letters and her favorite cassette tapes.

Soon after breakfast was over, Johnny finds his little sister marching towards an empty mailbox.

Vanessa sports a gray tube top, denim baggy pants laced with a black belt, and leather black combat boots.

Small silver hoops dangled in her earlobes; a white bandana tightened around Nessa's silky brown hair.

Clasped in her caramel brown hands held a postcard and a Soundgarden cassette tape.

Inquisitive, he asks Brooke and Caleb what was troubling Nessa. They were standing in the sink area, washing the dishes.

White soap and hot water washed away the bacon grease; strong citrus cleansed naked skin. Wiping the wet plate with a red dish towel, Brooke puts it in the rack and picked up another dish.

"I don't know, Johnny," she says. "Could it be about Eddie Vedder? You know how much she loves that guy."

Caleb frowns, helping her dry an ivory white bowl.

"I don't think it's about Eddie Vedder," he admits in an unsure tone.

Dumbfounded, Johnny leans his back against the sleek countertop. "How do you mean?"

"I am a telepath, remember?" Caleb reminds him.

His pale cheeks glowed bright pink as Johnny scratched his head. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that."

A disgruntled Caleb rolls his eyes. "Before she headed out of the beach house, I read her thoughts."

"What was she thinking about?"

"She was thinking about that poor kid in Jason's facility, you know, the one who can shoot bright flames from out of his hands?"

Brooke lowers the bleach white plate she was holding. At first, she was perplexed by her lover's description. But as she thought about the boy with fire abilities, a surprised Brooke immediately understood what he is talking about.

"Oh," she says softly. "Do you mean, Apollo?"

Her teenage boyfriend bounced his head up and down.

He sets the dried bowl beside the row of washed plates and scratched his bottom chin.

"Yeah," he says with a casual shrug. "I heard Apollo is getting a couple of sentences off for good behavior."

Caleb rubbed the third plate so hard that it accidentally fell out of his hands. But luckily, his girlfriend anticipated it as she swiftly catches the plate with her right hand.

"Whoa," whistled her boyfriend. "Incredible reflexes, babe."

Brooke did a flirtatious wink in his direction and hands the dish back to Caleb. "Here you go."

Johnny's sharp brown eyes observe the couple clearing the sink, but his mind wavered on Nessa.

Why didn't she tell me? Johnny was thinking as he removes himself from the countertop.

Was she ashamed of me or something?

Stepping out of the beach house, Johnny finds Nessa slipping the postcard inside a small mailbox.

"Hey Nessa," he called. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." she brushes her sweaty hands on her denim pants.

Johnny slowly blinks at her for a brief period and approaches his younger sister.

White, blinding light rained down on them; warm sea salt and loud waves scared the seagulls as they attempt to find shelter from the heat.

Chewing his bottom lip, Johnny shifts his feet towards Nessa. Parched sand sprayed the back of his legs.

"You sure?" he pressed. "At breakfast, you haven't touched your vegan bacon."

"I don't like vegan bacon."

"Why? It used to be your favorite."

The young Latina wiped the corner of her bottom lips with her right thumb. A small fly manages to buzz into her ear, but Nessa catches it without looking.

"Sorry, I guess I was not hungry," she admits, closing the mailbox.

Soon afterward, Nessa casts the dead insect on the light-brown soil and buries over a mountain of sand.

When she was finished, Nessa attempts to go back inside the house when Johnny begs her to stay.

He didn't want any secrets between him and Nessa; so Johnny waltzed towards Nessa and carefully places one hand on the girl's left shoulder. 

"Does that postcard has anything to do with Apollo?" he asks softly. "If it is, I am not mad."

Nessa's dried lips lift into a bitter smile. She coldly brushes off Johnny's hands. "You wouldn't understand."

"Why?"

"You don't give a shit about Apollo, Johnny."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ever since Apollo was arrested, you guys ignored him like he was nothing." a bitter Nessa crossed her arms in disgust. Hazel eyes were hostile like the sun's glare.

Hair danced on her cheeks. Feet moved like stiff wood. Unnerved by her antagonistic behavior, Johnny attempted to understand Nessa.

"Come on, Nessa." he pleads. "I know Apollo and I don't see eye to eye very much, but you don't have to feel guilty—"

"I already feel guilty," Nessa blurts out loud.

Johnny's lips transformed into a disbelieving frown.

Why is she condemning herself for something she didn't do? he wondered. Apollo did it to himself—not Nessa.

"You're guilty that he didn't get a happy ending?" Johnny murmured.

Nessa bobs her head in silence.

It's not your fault—"

"Yeah, it was. I should have helped him."

"Nessa, if you had helped him, you would have been in the same cell as Apollo." Her brother pushed the brown locks from his eyes. A warm smile spread across his face.

"I am your older brother, Ness." Johnny reminds her. "It's my job to protect you."

Nessa nods. She waddles towards her older brother, opens her arms, and hugged him.

Squeezing her back, Johnny looks down at Nessa. Nessa is growing up quicker than he thought, but she is still a sixteen-year-old child.

The last thing he needs is Social Services hunting her down.

"Look, you're right," Johnny says in a gentle tone. "Apollo deserved better, but what if—"

"Hey!" a terrified voice interrupts the siblings as  Caleb hurries outside and found the siblings standing near the mailbox.

Nessa looks at him funny. "What's up?"

Caleb pants like an exhausted dog. His eyes bulged and his hands were frantic. "You guys gotta see this!"

Before Johnny could ask more questions, Caleb sprints back inside the house and slams the door behind him.

Unsettled, the Phoenix siblings exchange frightening looks.

"What's his deal?" Johnny asks a perplexed Nessa. 

His little sister did a shrug. "Let's find out."

*    *      *     *
The Phoenix siblings entered the house to find Brooke and Caleb sitting on the living room couch.

Brooke's eyes were as white as milk; her hand clutched onto a charcoal pencil as she drew an intricate sketch on her notebook.

"What the hell is going on?" Nessa demands.

"I don't know!" Caleb blurted. "I was going upstairs to get Brooke a sweater when I saw her like this!"

He points his finger to a stupefied Brooke, adding little details to the picture.

On the page is a blond-haired teenage boy—disguised in dark, baggy clothes—running away from the police.

Balls of white flames appear out of his hands; a black hoodie concealed his head, but Caleb could see the blond hair peeping out of his forehead.

The image was so jarring that Nessa had to turn her face away.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters to herself. "How long has she been like this?"

Hearing this, Caleb informs her that Brooke has been drawing for at least thirty minutes.

Johnny sadly looks at his former girlfriend, scribbling on her notepad. Piercing white eyes shocked him.

According to Brooke, predicting the future wasn't a walk in the park. Whenever a vision came to her, Brooke had to stop whatever she was doing, grab a notebook, and draw until her pencils became dull.

In college, I knew a couple of friends who had this experience. But when I asked them what was like, a few told me that it was exhausting.

Dropping everything to sketch something in their vision was maddening; especially when you have two babies to feed. And by the time you snap out of your vision, the picture you drew is incomprehensible.

Your visions cannot translate their meanings, so you have to do your research. But in some cases, Brooke's allies have little trouble translating her drawings.

When she was finished, Johnny peers behind her shoulder. "Holy shit, is that Apollo?"

"What?" Nessa jumped on the couch beside Brooke. She studies the drawing of a hooded figure sprinting away from two speeding police cars.

"You saw Apollo?" she exclaimed. "How the hell did he escape from jail?"

"I don't know," said Brooke. "That was all the vision could show me."

Caleb put a comforting hand on her stiff shoulder, whereas Brooke kindly lends Johnny her notebook.

"What do you think it means?" she asks him.

Johnny held the journal in his hands. The drawing was a sign that Apollo is in trouble. Nevertheless, like his close friends, Johnny couldn't help but become worried about Apollo. 

If he gets thrown back in jail, there might be a chance that Apollo would burn the prison down. No pun intended.

"Alright, everyone gear up," Johnny instructs, handing Brooke back her journal. "We need to get Apollo out of the streets and onto a fucking train."

Silently, the others rush upstairs and return carrying their firearms and weapons.

As Nessa checks her handgun, she glances at her older brother and beamed, "Hey, can we get code names, this time?"

Johnny slides his sword into his sheath. "No."

"What?" Nessa untucks her shirt to cover the guns hiding in her pants. "Why not?"

Johnny reloads his semiautomatic pistol and snorts, "oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because this isn't a spy thriller?"

Siding with his friend, Caleb looks up from his Glock 9 pistol.

"Yeah, Nessa." he agreed. "If this was a spy thriller, then we all would probably be white British people."

Brooke slides her bullwhip inside her blue backpack, then checks to see if her healing ointments and supplies are inside.

"I think our medicine supply is good for now," the girl sighs in relief. "But I am running out of aloe and antibiotics."

Johnny and Caleb both nod in sync, whereas Nessa continues to pester her friends to get code names.

"Maybe we can be the characters in Reservoir Dogs," she suggests.

Everyone stares at her for a moment.

"Who the hell are Reservoir Dogs?" asked Caleb.

"It's not a 'who', it's a Quentin Tarantino movie," Nessa explains. "It's about these four guys robbing a jewelry store and stuff."

Johnny shoots her and are you crazy look.

"I'll be Mr. White," Nessa went on, ignoring her older brother's strange looks. "Caleb will be Mr. Orange, Brooke will be Mr. Blue, and Johnny will be Mr. Pink."

Brooke lowers her Beretta m7. "Why am I, Mr. Blue?"

"And why the hell am I Mr. Orange?" Caleb interjects. "Orange is like, my least favorite color in the rainbow."

Johnny glowers at the bitter couple. "At least you two didn't get stuck with Mr. Pink."

Nessa threw up her hands in frustration.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "Just be glad I didn't call any of you, Mr. Yellow. Alright?"

Brooke carefully slides her hands through her backpack straps and tousled her hair.

"I strongly think we shouldn't pick code names," she says. "We should just find Apollo, buy him a train ticket, and get the hell out of California."

Nessa sticks out her bottom lip. "Please?"

"No," said Johnny.

"Pretty please?"

"Nessa—"

"Pretty please with chocolate chips on top?"

She continues to plead with him until Johnny let out an angry grunt. "Okay, fine! We'll pick the fucking code names, and then we leave!"

Nessa beamed like a blissful child. "Yay."

"Okay," a bitter Caleb groans, "Do I have to be Mr. Orange? Why can't I be Mr. Purple?"

"You can't be Mr. Purple." Her lips faltered into a sad frown. "Some guy in some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. Orange!"

Caleb, Brooke, and Johnny trade weird look at one another.

"It's a quote from the movie, God!" Nessa groans. "I can't believe you guys never watched Reservoir Dogs."

An irritated Johnny swivels his eyes to the ceiling. "And I still can't believe you're giving us senseless code names."

Tucking her weapons in her red backpack, Nessa sneers at him.

"Oh please," she snorts. "You're just jealous that you got stuck with Mr. Pink."